Chapter Text
Let the curtain open. And so was the song, and so was his dream.
He had always loved those curtains, may they be made out of red or gold, of satin or lies. It was the thin barrier between a masked society and its blatant critic, the last wall between the dull, monotonous reality and a stage full of satires, tackling both truth and deceit, both happiness and despair through their very essence, an essence that all had lost, as no real emotion was meant to appear as its fullest in a world where everyone fabled.
How funny was it, for an audience to purposefully face the exalted spectacle of emotions, to face its greatest flaws, its greatest sins? How ironic was it, for a man to stand before a muzzled society, and judge its own failures through the lens of what appeared to be a self-proclaimed god? This was exactly what he loved : being the whistleblower of mankind, and watching the people’s crestfallen faces, as he would expose them entirely, and take down the masks they had yearned to wear so perfectly.
He loved this feeling of superiority, and through his indifferent eyes, he felt as if he could uncover all of the stubbornness of those who indulge in falsehood.
Today was a very important day. As rain was quietly hitting the ground, he finally arrived near a great and ancient building, which had never lost its beauty throughout the years. It was a great theater, the biggest in the town, and the most famous one across the country. However, the more he looked at it, the more reluctant he felt.
He had received nothing but a mysterious letter, asking young and debuting actors to come, and try to be offered the last role required to complete the play and perform it. Just an address, and a name, Scaramouche. Of course, he had the perfect profile for this audition : he was in his twenties, and had only performed in a few plays so far. He was indeed talented, and didn’t doubt his capacity to become a famous and acclaimed actor someday, but he had to admit all the secrets surrounding this invitation were enough to reveal both his curiosity and his doubts.
What kind of play would he be part of? Was the mysterious letter part of a greater show, a unique and strange show, that would allow him to prove his skills, and offer him new opportunities? The more he thought about it, the more excitement took over his uncertainty, and carried away by the potentiality of recognition, he put all of his questions aside, and decided to face mystery directly, acting as the pawn of an intricate riddle.
No matter what was awaiting him, he knew for sure that taking risks was part of his work, and so he opened the door, and got inside the building, more than ready to discover the truth behind this letter, and unveil the mystery behind this name, Scaramouche.
He walked for a while, losing himself in the never-ending corridors of the theater. As he was wandering, he quickly noticed no one was there. It was strangely quiet, and no voices could be heard, no one seemed to be walking. It seemed like this place was empty, and this feeling was reinforced by the woesome silence that took over theaters once the performance was over. Nonetheless he did not despise this silence, and even enjoyed the hollowness of the place, challenging him to fill the stage with the rawest emotions known to man once again.
He eventually stopped by another door, on which was stuck a little note : Auditioners only. When he opened it, certain to have found the right room, he discovered it was as empty as the corridors. Was it good news, or a sign to run away as fast as possible? No matter how much such a weird set would have scared commoners, he was not like the others. So he sat down on one of the chairs disposed against the white wall, and waited, for at least thirty minutes.
Sure, it felt like something was off. The silence. The emptiness. The absence of life. But wasn’t it exciting, after all? At least, that’s what he thought, and so he remained there, daydreaming, thinking about his success, about defying all challenges, all plays, and offering the best performance one could dream of. Ah, the more he waited, the more it felt appealing, to dive into this tricky riddle, and to abandon himself to the hands of fate itself.
“Someone came, at last.”
He raised his head again, and immediately noticed a man, standing before him, his expression as neutral as can be. This man was rather short, with dark hair and blue eyes, gorgeous eyes. He even found himself staring at them, admirative of their beauty. Who was this stranger? He thought for a while, and eventually came to the conclusion that the answer was quite obvious.
“Are you Scaramouche? The person who signed the letter?”
The man smiled, a mysterious smile, as mysterious as his words. Scaramouche then nodded, and as he crossed his arms, he answered.
“That’s right. How funny, you’re the first person to even dare entering this room. People usually wander in the theater, and then leave, as it’s too quiet, and as the letter was probably too uncanny for them to trust. I must say I recognize your audacity.”
He smiled. It felt great to know he had been the only person to ever show up here. More chances to get the role, of course, but also more chances to stand out, and impress Scaramouche.
“I love uncanny things, sir Scaramouche! Nice to meet you, you can call me Childe.”
Childe tried to reach for Scaramouche’s hand, but he immediately stepped back, unwilling to shake the new actor’s hand, surely to keep things professional, even though more casualty would have been gladly welcome. Yet it didn’t bother Childe too much, and in order to make the best impression, he let his pride aside, and followed this interesting man, who managed to hide all of his feelings. Scaramouche looked unpredictable, as the mask he seemed to wear was a thick and resistant one.
Honestly speaking, it made Childe want to know more about him, only to unveil the truth that stood behind this inscrutable face.
“Childe… Follow me, we’ll discuss your role.”
Childe blinked, taken aback by this declaration.
“... My role?”
“Yes. You’re the only person who showed up, as I said. I offer you this role, as a reward for your audacity. Just as I thought, it seems like you’re the perfect actor for this one.”
His heart started to beat faster. If only he had known his curiosity would lead him so far. It felt great, amazing even, and Childe didn’t hesitate at all. With a large smile on his face, he followed Scaramouche, ready to discuss this new role, and discover its subtleties.
After all, Childe knew nothing about the play yet.
Scaramouche’s office was a small, minimalist one. Everything was pure white : the chairs, the doors, the windows, the desk, the computer… And of course, the sheets lying on the floor, trembling words written on them. If everything looked clean at first sight, this sudden mess was enough to create an interesting contrast. Perhaps it was meant to reveal a bit of Scaramouche’s true face, the face of a conflicted, creative artist, whose creativity was too strong to be shut down. It spilled from his mask like water from a fountain, and was probably the only thing Childe would ever manage to notice, at this point.
Both sat down. Scaramouche thought for a while, visibly lost in thoughts, while Childe was looking at him thoroughly, trying to discern even the slightest emotion. Nothing. This beautiful face showed nothing, and so he could only admire its beauty, failing to grasp its subtleties.
“... You’ll act as Tartaglia.”
Childe was taken aback again. It was to say Scaramouche’s words were unpredictable, and often came off as unexpected. Tartaglia… He definitely needed more explanations.
“Excuse me, but… Actually, I was wondering what the play is all about. I’m excited for this new role, of course! But, it’d be easier for me to understand if I knew what the play is all about.”
Scaramouche smiled again, this strange, fathomless smile. Actually, its emptiness was enough to awaken some weird thrill in Tartaglia’s mind, a thrill he particularly enjoyed.
“It’s funny. You asked me what the play is all about before asking me who I was.”
Well, actually, Scaramouche was right. Childe hadn’t even questioned his identity. As Scaramouche was the only person he had met in the whole theater, he didn’t even think about asking him who he was, and what he was doing here. Perhaps the thrill of the unknown had taken over his common sense; if someone like him even knew what common sense was.
“Well… I assume you’re the director. You’re the person who signed the application letter, and you’re the only person I’ve met in this theater. You also gave me a role for what seems to be your play.
“I’m the director, indeed. However, it would have been funny, if I happened to be someone else. I could pretend to be the Scaramouche who signed the letter. I could pretend to be whoever I want. I could trick you into thinking I’m related to this play, and manipulate you as I wish.”
It was Childe’s turn to smile. He definitely found Scaramouche interesting, and it made him look forward to this play even more.
“If you really were using me, you wouldn’t expose yourself like this.”
“Falsely exposing myself could be a way to gain your trust.”
Scaramouche crossed his arms. Childe finally spotted another characteristic : Scaramouche was confident. Extremely confident, even, or at least that’s how he wanted to appear. But was this confidence enough for Scaramouche to appear superior? Scaramouche’s superiority didn’t feel as effortless as his confidence, but Childe didn’t want to come to this conclusion yet. He still had to learn more about this intriguing character.
“Anyways, your audacity seems to be driven by your carelessness. But that’s fine, as long as your performance satisfies me, maybe this carelessness will reveal itself to be an asset. After all… Those who don’t care are capable of anything, because they don’t fear consequences.”
Childe nodded. No matter the outcome, he would have never regretted coming into this theater. Of course, his doubts were undeniable, but those doubts were also part of a much greater feeling, that of the adventurous people.
As Childe was thinking, Scaramouche grabbed a sheet on the desk, and handed it over to him. This sheet was cleaner than the others, and the words written on it seemed more organized, driven by a more controlled creativity.
"Eleven people living together in a noble house.
If there is something these people have in common, it's their tricks, and great, great flaws.
In this tragicomedy, all of them only have one goal : to use their mischief in order to murder everyone in the house, for there can only be one trickster standing on the throne of foolishness.
To whom is the reward of deceit destined?"
Childe smiled. Now, that was an interesting play. A play full of stupid, despicable characters. A perfect representation of a world full of clowns, and he would be the one laughing at them, by showing to the audience what their masks had allowed them to hide.
It was a beautiful tragicomic play. It was exactly what he had been longing for.
A hideous mockery, laughing at the face of destiny.
“I’ll be acting in this play as well. That’s why I signed the letter as Scaramouche. I want us all to understand and impersonate our characters perfectly. It’s required, as I want this performance to be impactful enough, and even the first representation shall be perfect.”
“Scaramouche… You’re definitely an interesting director. I’m so glad to have the opportunity to work by your side. Let’s see where this play will lead us, I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.”
As imperturbable as possible, Scaramouche simply stood up, and looked at the window. The night was slowly falling, and it would be time for Childe to leave at last.
“Oh, believe me, Tartaglia, you won’t be disappointed.”
He marked a break, and before he invited Childe to leave the theater, he pronounced these last words, a sparkle of interest revealing itself in his beautiful eyes.
“See you tomorrow at nine for the first rehearsal. I’ll introduce you to the script and to the other characters as well. I hope you’ll enjoy this play as much as them.”